


Once Upon a Time

by OhMyGlobWhatthefrickamievendoing



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Character Death, Child Abuse, Dark, Gaslighting, Gen, I'm Sorry, Mental Health Issues, Mentally Ill Characters, Pre-Canon, Tumblr Prompt, Violence, batjokes is only very vaguely implied, i'm so sorry again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 17:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14938607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhMyGlobWhatthefrickamievendoing/pseuds/OhMyGlobWhatthefrickamievendoing
Summary: Once upon a time, long before the days of vigilante bats and killer clowns, before the times of all powerful aliens and evil billionaires, before the times of gods and monsters, before he was dead and buried six feet under, Jerome Valeska loved his little brother.





	Once Upon a Time

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry D: Anon on tumblr wanted Jeremiah and Jerome with brotherly feels and I destroyed it I'm sorry it got too dark
> 
> Also batjokes is only very vaguely implied

Once upon a time, that’s how all stories start isn’t it? _Once upon a time._ Once upon a time, long before the days of vigilante bats and killer clowns, before the times of all powerful aliens and evil billionaires, _before the times of gods and monsters_ , before he was dead and buried six feet under, Jerome Valeska loved his little brother.

He loved the way Jeremiah Valeska wrinkled his little nose each time they walked past the elephants. He loved the way Jeremiah Valeska parted his hair, a little too severely for a five-year-old. He loved the way Jeremiah Valeska glared at the old, blind psychic whenever he offered them sweets, his little mouth twisted up in disgust. He loved the way Jeremiah Valeska pushed up his too big, cracked glasses. He loved the way Jeremiah Valeska scribbled away in his little books, squawking and slamming them shut whenever anyone got too close. He loved the way Jeremiah Valeska ate his candy floss, his mouth covered in the gooey, pink sweet. He loved the way Jeremiah Valeska stared at their mother with cold, dead eyes. He loved the way Jeremiah Valeska giggled and stared in wonder whenever the fireworks would go off. He loved the way Jeremiah Valeska sat next to him and whispered, voice small and conspiratorial, _“I’m getting out of here.”_

A long time ago, before Jeremiah Valeska was a monster that worshipped a God, and before Jerome Valeska had been long dead and forgotten, little five-year-old Jerome Valeska loved Jeremiah Valeska.

 

* * *

 

At six-years-old Jerome Valeska adores his baby brother.

Just like everyone else does.

His baby brother who is smart, _unlike him._ His baby brother who is good and quiet, _unlike him._ His baby brother who won’t be stuck in a trailer for the rest of his life, _unlike him._ His baby brother who isn’t wrong, isn’t a mistake, _unlike him._ He hears them whisper, _and he agrees._

At six-years-old Jerome Valeska looks into his baby brother’s eyes and hears him say, _“You are wrong. You are bad. They hate you.”_ And he thinks _yes, it’s true, it must be_ because everyone loves Jeremiah Valeska, and Jerome Valeska is so _unlike him._

 

* * *

 

At seven, Jeremiah Valeska says, “Want to see something cool?” His eyes lit up with something Jerome has never seen before, and Jerome nods because it must be _cool._ Amazingly, spectacularly cool if it has Jeremiah Valeska so excited.

Jeremiah shows him a cat.

Its green eyes stare blankly at them, its mouth slightly open, its insides hanging out from its stomach.

Jerome feels his head rush, his heart pound and his stomach knot. He wants to throw up. Wants to laugh. Wants to cry.

“It’s pretty cool, huh?” Jeremiah whispers, from next to him.

_It is._ It must be. It _has_ to be. If _Jeremiah_ says so. Jeremiah is the smart one, the good one. The one that isn’t a mistake. _The one that wasn’t born bad._

“It’s cool.”

“Do you want to touch it?”

_No._ “Yes.”

Jeremiah Valeska is always right. _This has to be cool._

 

* * *

 

The next time it’s a cat again, this time larger, only it doesn’t have any eyes. Jeremiah’s fingertips are stained red.

A few other times it’s lizards.

Another time it’s a snake. One of Mama’s. She screams and shouts when she can’t find it. At Jerome. _It was his fault. He was supposed to lock the cage. He’s the one always making mistakes._ Jeremiah smiles at him from the corner of the room. Jerome giggles. Mama hits him.

One time it was a bat. _Alive._ Down on the ground squirming and screaming, as Jeremiah pressed one of his small feet to its smaller wing, it didn’t quite look like the threatening piece of darkness Jerome so often saw at night. It looked small and scared.

“Go on,” says Jeremiah, sounding impatient. “Cut it open. It’s fun. You can see its insides. Study it. Like they do at schools.”

“Okay,” says Jerome. Because it’ll be fun, Jeremiah said so and Jeremiah never made mistakes.

 

* * *

 

After the bat there is another cat. After the cat there are more lizards. After that birds. A nest full of robins.

 

* * *

 

_“You Monster! You disgusting little – should have listened to Zach about you. Filthy little creature. It was you all along. Cutting up my snakes for fun. For pleasure. Freak. Killer. Murderer.”_

That was Mama.

She had found him with her latest snake, after Jeremiah had taught Jerome how to skin the previous one. She had found him alone, near the trees, with her badly skinned snake, where Jeremiah had left him to go find a sharper knife.

Jeremiah stood behind her, clinging to her skirts, lower lip trembling as tears poured down his ruddy cheeks.

Jerome moves towards them. _Towards Jeremiah._ His head hurts and his hands tingle from where the little knife slipped from his hand and into his own flesh. The world is moving too fast to keep up with, and his eyes are getting wet and blurry. “J –”

Jeremiah whimpers and moves behind Mama.

“Don’t you dare come near him you little monster,” hisses Mama, shielding his baby brother from him.

_Shielding his baby brother from the monster._

 

* * *

 

“He did it before Mama,” says Jeremiah, eyes wide and wet, voice trembling. “With the cats. The strays. And with the other snakes. The ones who went missing. Jerome said it was fun. Seeing inside their tummies. It’s not Mama. It’s not fun. I don’t wanna. Couldn’t tell. Couldn’t tell. He’d do it to me too.” Jeremiah hiccups.

He didn’t. _Did he?_ Maybe he did. He can’t remember. His head hurts, his vision swimming before him. His body hurts more from where Mama had hit him. Kicked him. Beaten and bloodied him. Jeremiah’s voice sounds distant and distorted. He wants to move towards it. Wants to ask, _did I?_ Because it all hurts and he can’t remember, he doesn’t think he did but if _Jeremiah_ says so maybe he did.

Maybe he did.

 

* * *

 

At eight, Jeremiah falls down the stairs of their trailer. He screams and cries and screams some more. _Jerome pushed me._ He says. Jerome doesn’t remember pushing him. _But Jeremiah says so,_ _so maybe he did._

 

* * *

 

He tries to hurt his baby brother again and again and again.

He cuts him up and watches his blood flow. Scratches at his face and pulls his hair. Digs his nails into his throat and his fists into his stomach. He doesn’t remember doing it. Doesn’t remember why sweet, perfect, unbroken Jeremiah cries and pulls away from him. But he does see the marks. He hears Mama yell and Jeremiah cry. Feels her blows land. Knows that he must have done it because he’s a monster that was born bad, and _Jeremiah would never lie._

 

* * *

 

On their tenth birthday Jerome Valeska sets their bed on fire with Jeremiah in it.

Jeremiah screams loud enough, early enough even though he is supposed to be asleep, and the fire is set up badly enough, that it allows Jeremiah’s _perfect skin_ to come out perfectly undamaged. Jerome ends up black and blue.

 

* * *

 

The next day Jeremiah is gone.

Mama locks the door of the trailer with Jerome in it and hurriedly drags Jeremiah after her, a bag stuffed with all of Jeremiah’s little clothes, and little shoes, and little books in her other hand. From the little window through which he peeks he watches her stop to talk to the old, blind psychic, to the clowns and the acrobats.

Jeremiah turns to stare at Jerome, his green eyes, cold and dead, like that very first cat’s. _MonsterMonsterMonsterMonster_ they seem to say.

 

* * *

 

Mama comes home a day later, smelling like alcohol and angrier than usual, a clown follows her in.

Jerome closes his eyes and covers his ears. Hides beneath his sheets. For the first time he feels angry. _Angryangryangryangry._ Angry at Mama and angry at the clown. Angry at the circus and angry at the world. Angry at Jeremiah for leaving him, for getting out of here like he said he would. For the first time he closes his eyes and thinks of cutting up Jeremiah Valeska and watching his blood flow. Scratching at his face and pulling his hair. Digging his nails into his throat and his fists into his stomach. Lighting his bed on fire with him in it. Skinning him like a _snake._

 

* * *

 

Long time ago before Gods and Monsters ruled the world, before Bats and Clowns danced together on the rooftops of Gotham City, before Jerome Valeska was dead and buried, long gone and long forgotten, overshadowed by the blood, his _smart little, good little, perfect little_ baby brother painted the city in; but after the Circus, and after Uncle Zach, after Mama and Theo Galavan, after Jim Gordon and Death, after resurrection and murderous cults, after poor, angry, bat-shit crazy, little boy billionaire Bruce Wayne and being reunited after fifteen years, Jerome Valeska looks into the cold, dead, green eyes of Jeremiah Valeska and thinks _he still loves him._

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hope you enjoyed!! Please come scream at me I need to hear it :))))


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